


Maybe it's enough (really it's okay)

by i_am_my_opheliac



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Tour fic I guess, slight introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 04:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14908304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_my_opheliac/pseuds/i_am_my_opheliac
Summary: Dan's birthday always brings a few things - cake, love from his closed ones, phanarts, talks about the unstoppable future.But it doesn't have to be bad.





	Maybe it's enough (really it's okay)

**Author's Note:**

> Dan's birthday has been over for exactly 35 minutes, but I got the sudden urge to write something for it at exactly 10.38pm. Because, why not. 
> 
> It's my first work for the phandom and I'm obviously posting without a beta because I'm impatient, so yes, you can be mean with your comments.
> 
> Jk please don't.

The sheets are soft against his skin, the mattress comfortable in a way that most hotels’ aren’t. Dan lets his head sink into the fluffy pillow, fills his nostrils with the scent of clean bedsheets and the perfume of his own expensive shampoo clinging to the still damp curls. He feels relaxed and languidly tired, a combination of the adrenaline slipping out of his body and the warm shower that made his bones feel like jello. He's not complaining, really.

"Are you still looking?"

Dan raises his eyes from the screen, feeling the slight burn that signals he's probably been staring at it way too long, not blinking enough. He turns to look at Phil, takes in the sight of him - a white towel loosely wrapped around his hips, black hair messy and still wet, rivulets of water dripping down his shoulders and pale chest, down to the knot that keeps the only piece of clothing close to his body.

He can feel himself stir with arousal at the sight, but he's probably too tired to act on it, his bones feel too much like liquid to entertain the idea for more than a couple of seconds. He licks his lips anyway, knowing Phil is watching him, aware of the effect he has on Dan even after all these years. Maybe Phil will be up to do all the hard job tonight, if he plays his cards right. Now, that he wouldn't mind.

"Stop looking at me like that, I'm too old to have any energy left in me." Phil says, walking even further inside the room. His tone has no real bite to it, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he unties the knot and lets the towel fall on the ground; despite his words, his dick seems to be showing some interest, the head already flushed pink, a delicious spot of color in the otherwise pale land that is his body.

"Your dick seems to disagree with that," Dan replies, eyes deliberately pointed at said dick, a smirk on his lips.

"My dick has done enough work for the day, mate."

He tries not to laugh at that, he really does, but Phil's stern expression is something else, especially when coupled with his still naked body and his cock that, despite how sour he's looking, is definitely starting to get more and more interested, filling up against his hip. Dan isn't sure if it's the fact that he’s looking at Phil, half-naked himself, only black boxers covering his body, or the rush of memories that - he’s sure - are swarming Phil’s mind just as they’re doing with his.

Phil is right anyway, he has done enough work today - that morning for sure, slow and warm and just on the right side of not enough, gentle rolling of hips and soft press of lips, sleepy and everything that comes with the knowledge of the alarm nowhere near blasting and a hotel room just for themselves. And then again that afternoon, slightly rushed and messy, lips tasting of sugary frosting and prosecco and the feeling of naughtiness as they decided to steal some time away from the group of people that they love dearly, that all love Dan dearly, but were just _so_ focused on wishing him a happy birthday without realizing the look of pure hunger in Dan's eyes that had nothing to do with the cake in front of him and _everything_ to do with the slightly sweaty man that could drive him crazy with blue eyes staring at him as he licked away cream from his fingers.

Yes, Phil's dick has done good work today, and while it isn't unheard of them to go multiple times a day - with the right amount of alcohol in their bodies or just the right combination of adrenaline - it won't happen tonight. Not after two sold out shows and two meet and greets, not after smiling and socializing with hundreds of people, not after the physical strain he's put on his body. Not today.

Tomorrow, maybe, he thinks as he licks his lips and focuses back on Phil - he isn't looking at him anymore, bent over his suitcase to retrieve a pair of clean underwear to slip on, the only pajamas he needs in the safety of this hotel room that looks and smells nothing like their own bedroom, but still has all the important things.

It's a few minutes and an endless scroll through twitter later that Phil speaks up again. He's wearing glasses now, his hair soft and slightly wavy mostly out of his forehead, laptop on his legs. It's the most _them_ they've been in the entire day, probably. "You _are_ still looking."

Dan hums, not really replying as he moves his own laptop just a little bit, enough that Phil can see his screen; there, on the white timeline of Twitter are thousands and thousands of messages, fanarts, videos, the occasional fanfiction link, all for Dan's birthday, all to celebrate him. It's overwhelming and terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time, the most unreal yet stable reality of their lives, and Phil knows all too well how that feels.

"There's some good art this year," Dan says, a small smile on his face as he switches between tabs, some of his favorite opened in full screen so that he can better appreciate them. "More soft aesthetic and less gloom, I don't know what's that about."

Phil is smiling back at him when his eyes move from the screen to the man next to him. "It's because they all finally realized you&'re a fucking sap."

"Ohi," but there's no bite to Dan's voice. He keeps scrolling some more, feels the bed shift as Phil comes closer to have a better look. Maybe it's the proximity that makes his fingers hover longer than usual to some of the more shippy art, the ones where Phil is full and present in his place next to Dan, holding him, kissing him, always there - just like real life.

He's debating about liking a couple. He's done that before, liked a few riskier pieces, hiding behind the idea of appreciating all forms of art. He got called on his bullshit by his own audience, of course, but as long as he doesn't confess his lies they won't know how close to the truth they are. how they always are.

Phil can see his hesitation, Dan knows. He doesn't stop him, doesn't even question him, simply comments, "I like that one," he says, pointing to a drawing of the two of them without much background, Phil's arms loosely wrapped around Dan's middle, hands holding a cupcake with a candle on top. "I like the way they got my hair."

Dan huffs a laugh, because of course that would be what Phil focuses on. It's not completely true, obviously, but they've had this conversation before, the one that starts with a small desire of another step outside the small glass closet they're still in, playing with the idea of dipping their toes outside, even if just for a little bit.

A beat of silence, before another set of drawings catches his attention. This one is more recent, Dan knows, not only because of the time of the tweet, but mostly because of the subject: two pictures, one of them Dan close up to the camera, hair out of the way, teeth showing up unattractively and a bottle of rosé behind him; the other one of Phil, holding his phone in one hand and a half-full glass in the other, smiling.

It makes Dan smile a little bit, a familiar feeling of warmth and fear in his belly. "They really liked your pictures this year," he says, focusing on keeping his voice soft. "They like seeing candid pictures we take of each other, I think."

Phil doesn't say anything for a minute. It's up in the air, the talk behind it, the _we know why they love it so much_ and the _will they want even more if we keep giving them_ and possibly even a smaller _why did you do it, was it all for show._ Two years ago, the talk would've been out loud, not made of thoughts but of actual words, harshly whispered on a hotel room with too much alcohol in their bodies and the knowledge of not being allowed to fight, not for this, not when they had to perform for a full audience - always them, always the invisible third party of their relationship.

But it's not two years ago. It's today, it's 2018, it's posting sets of pictures on their instagrams and including solo pics of the other person in the middle of it, almost like an afterthought, like it's not important, like they're saying _this is what it's like, this is our normal, please don't make us say more._

It's sharing more and being open and navigating boundaries together, grasping the other person's hand when they make a step forward instead of pulling them back, it's not keeping each other in check too much but still making sure the other person is comfortable. It's them, older and not as much wiser but definitely happier.

"Maybe I can start saving some of the best for next year," Phil finally says, interrupting the silence. Dan turns to look at him once again, takes in the soft smile gracing his lips. "Maybe one of both of us as well."

A flutter of warmth, of excitement, of terror. It's not much of a promise, not really, but it's enough.

"Maybe I'll do it first. January is closer, after all."

A fleeting kiss, chapped lips and slight stubble, for no one else to experience but them - and that's enough for now, for tomorrow, for the next day. It won't be forever.

"I can't wait."

But it's okay.


End file.
